The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(64)

She so desperately wanted the fairy tale to be true that she fell into the habit of looking away.

But he didn’t come to her on their wedding night, or the night after, nor any night since. They slept in separate bedrooms. Leo didn’t talk much. People said he was naturally quiet. She accepted this. Then when the whispers started, and even the servants began calling her the Whiskey Wench, Leo did nothing. He still smiled at her, gave Genny whatever she liked, complimented her, but the hugs were few, the kisses fewer. He loves me, but not everyone shows affection in the same way, she told herself. She needed to believe he felt the same way she did, because if he didn’t, it would break her heart into so many pieces there would be no putting it back together.

Why am I still here? Why hasn’t Leo found me? Has he even looked?

Tears welled up. She felt them coming hot and painful along with the truth.

Genny wasn’t stupid. That was part of her problem. She had figured it out some time ago. Leo hadn’t married her for the money. That was where everyone had it wrong. He had married her because he needed a wife. He needed one fast, and it didn’t matter who.

It’s not true, part of her still protested. But that internal voice was losing volume, smothered by facts that could no longer be overlooked. She was fighting a losing battle. Genny cried as quietly as she could. She didn’t want Mercator to hear. It didn’t work.

“Are you hungry?” Mercator asked.

“Is this a trick question?” Genny said, wiping her eyes and sniffling.

“I have bread. Would you like some?”

“I’d sleep with Villar for some bread.”

“The bread isn’t that good,” Mercator chuckled.

Genny laughed with her.

Since that first real conversation about eating gold, the mood in her prison had changed. Mercator wasn’t ready to fling open the cell door and set her free, but it was obvious she felt the abduction had been a mistake. The moment they shared was soft, gentle, comforting, fun. Strange how the flip side of tears was laughter. They could have been a pair of visiting friends up past bedtime, hiding from parents. Snickering as they shared secrets about boys, about clothes, about all the things friends were supposed to talk about. Only Mercator wasn’t her friend. She had no reason to cheer her up.

“I’m sorry for disrespecting your husband,” Genny said.

“Who?” Mercator asked.

“Isn’t Villar your—”

“Oh, blessed Ferrol, no! How could you possibly think that he and I . . .” She faltered. “Villar is merely the leader of his clan, the Orphe. I’m the head of the Sikara. Ours are the two oldest and most respected mir families. We have no romantic relationship, and to be honest, I think he finds me repugnant.”

“Well, he has no reason to feel that way. You are very kind.”

“I was involved in kidnapping you, remember? How is that kind?”

“You offered me bread, and I know you don’t have much. You didn’t have to do that.”

Mercator didn’t say anything. There was no sound on the other side of the door.

“Oh, I see. Is that bread meant to be my last meal?”

“No!” Mercator replied hotly. “It’s just bread.”

Nothing was said for a moment, and the silence felt suffocating.

“There’s still time,” Mercator offered.

“And when the time runs out?”

Mercator sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“I suspect Villar does.” Genny clenched her jaw. She felt lying to herself now was pointless, and yet there wasn’t much point in not lying, either. The result was going to be the same, and it didn’t matter one bit either way.

“Listen, do you want the bread or not?”

“No,” Genny said. “Why waste it.”

Silence followed, and lingered. No sounds came from the other side of the door for a long time, then Genny heard Mercator sigh again.

“What’s wrong?” Genny asked.

“Now I don’t want it, either.”

“Don’t be that way. You spent good money. You should eat it.”

Another pause. Mercator shifted in the other room. Genny wasn’t near the door, couldn’t see her, but it sounded like she sat down, and none too gently.

“I don’t like doing this, you know?” the mir said, her tone miserable. “You seem like a nice person. It’s just like Villar to grab the only decent noble. It’s just . . . I have to . . . we have to . . . something has to be done, and nabbing you was certainly better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Death. Many would die.” There was a loud noise on the other side of the door, something clattering on the floor. “If only your husband would concede to the demands, this whole mess would be over. It’s not like we asked for riches. We just desire the same rights everyone else already has. And you were already trying to do just that.”

“So, you believe me?”

“I do now. I asked around. You really did attend a meeting of the Merchants’ Guild, and you suggested the Calians and dwarves be allowed membership.”

“You’re being nice. I doubt anyone who was there described it like that.”

“You’re right. They said the Whiskey Wench had lost her mind. That the bitch was blackmailing them and would ruin the city as a result.”